Demolitions Are Sexy. Or Maybe They're Not.

Today is one of those days in which my brain is scattered. Envision a spilled box of cornflakes. And not even the kind with sugar on them. Boring cornflakes. And then you're distracted by lint on the floor. Lint!

What was that thing you were thinking about again?

See? You forgot it just like that, so you'll have to forgive me if I just ramble for a bit.


When I stopped to take this picture on the corner of 12th and Hamilton – goodbye older building with style and character soon to be replaced with some new, likely corporate-looking crap! – this older man stopped next to me. When I say "older", I mean "older than me", because he was in his mid to late 50s. I know that some of you are that age or older. I just wanted to let you know that I don't think that that is necessarily old, but that it's twenty years older than me, and so I call it "older".

Are you all unoffended now? Good.

Anyway, the older guy started chatting with me, and it was a nice little conversation at first, but after a while it turned into that kind of conversation where I didn't know how to seamlessly stop talking to him and walk away and he started having those pregnant pauses in between half-sentences, and then I realized that maybe he liked me liked me. You know, like when someone might ask for your number liked me.

So, all smooth-like, I reached across my own face to scratch my right earlobe with my left hand, not looking awkward at all, to show off my wedding ring, which I followed up with some remark about heading back to work, which I was not, and then I turned to cross the street.

Golf Steakhouse's eternal flame

Looking back, I am beginning to think that maybe that conversation was less about him wanting to pick me up and more about two strangers trying to have a normal conversation, one stranger who was capable of such a thing (him) and one who was not (me).

I'm just so freaking hot all the time that it's an easy mistake for me to make, though.

accidental street shot

I was going somewhere else with this. I was going to tell you about how a friend of mine from years ago was oblivious to the fact that he was extremely effeminate until he was in his mid-20s and saw the footage from a documentary another friend was shooting for a class. I was going to write about how we don't we really know ourselves and how even the tiniest snapshots of the truth we sometimes get can rock our foundations, but that seems like a lot of work to get into now.

You'll just have to settle for my story about how an older man chatted me up because I'm so damn steamy.

You're welcome.

In Which 28 Days Sober Is Celebrated By A Middling Lunch Followed By A Heap Of Gratitude

Five Lists of Five